Long distance running, however, a test of mental and physical endurance, was something I stumbled into.

After 3 months of training, I lined up last Sunday at the crack of dawn, wondering how on earth I got myself in this position; standing along 10,000 others freezing their buns off, waiting to run the SMH half marathon.

5 minutes before the race, I wasn’t so much nervous but more curious.

How was my mind going to handle the strain of focusing on running 21.1 km?

Where was this run going to take me?

I mean, I knew logistically “where I was going”. The finish line. Duh. I was wondering more about where running was going to take me after this gruelling race. Would I still love it? Will I call it quits?

Did I really need to do a last minute pee or was that nerves?

While experienced runners tell you that endurance running is 90% mental, they don’t mention the mind games.

This particular half marathon course consisted of a lot of loops and bends. No big deal, I thought.

But on the day, actually seeing the faster runners already on the other side of the course left laggers like me, mistakenly believe that the turn ahead was just a short distance away.

Wrong.

Eventually, each time I saw a group running the opposite direction, I knew I was up for a battle. Even more so if there was a hill.

And it just wasn’t me who was getting frustrated with all the mind manipulation. After seeing up front what would’ve been the umpteenth corner, someone behind me yelled, “What the…???”

“Dude! You shoulda read the map!” I felt like telling him.

A straight forward “Point A to Point B” course would’ve been less taxing on the brain.

Instead, in the twists and turns, all sense of distance and time is lost.

There are delusions of covering more kilometres than you actually have; it taking longer than what it actually has.

Each time a flag marker came into view, my spirits would dissolve.

“What? Only 12 kilometres?”

“What only 15?!!”

“HOLY EFFING HELL!!! 17????!”

Changing focus was key.

If my toes felt like they were falling off, I tried to enjoy the view.

If I started to slouch, gasping for air after running up a hill, I straightened my posture and shoulders and took in deep, slow breaths.

If the notion of stopping crept up (which happened often), I would tell my mind to shut up and allow myself to just see where this was going to take me. Through pain? Through an adventure? Whatever.

300 metres from the finish line, I pretty much had enough. The quicker it was over, the better.

Ignoring that lungs were going to explode and feet were swollen and excruciatingly sore, I sprinted.

And just as I was about to collapse after running through the arch, I spotted my family.

Later that day, Mr Surfer said he had expected some triumphant “Woots” and victorious fist bumps from me.

Instead, all I could mutter was, “I need some water…”

Catching my breath with lungs back intact, again I asked myself where all this running is taking me.

No answers have yet come to mind.

However, without doubt, the intense mixed feelings of utter exhaustion and accomplishment is extremely close, dangerously so, to being addictive.

We had been talking about me taking some time to go away somewhere solo. But as life sweeps us by, the plan was never executed.

Then, what was supposed to be an impromptu trip to Melbourne for the Kids Business Bloggers Brunch, somehow Mr Surfer turned it into a 3 night getaway – in a hotel suite with a Jacuzzi, no less.

Who was I to complain?

While I still managed to meet up with some friends – both new and old – I decided to make a conscious (and some might say, selfish) decision to make the weekend more about me. Time for me. With only me.

I soaked myself in a bath full of bubbles twice a day (Radox is the new black!)

I booked myself in for an hour and a half traditional Thai massage.

I walked around Melbourne’s Chinatown and decided that it was so much prettier than ours. (Sorry, Sydney…but yours is starting to get grungy).

And my biggest highlight? A last minute matinee ticket to see “Driving Miss Daisy” at the Comedy Theatre.

Throughout the whole performance, my love for the theatre and the arts re-ignited itself.

I sat in the darkness, tears streaming down my face, in complete awe that I was in the same room with two of Broadway’s greatest legends. When would I EVER be this close to James Earl Jones and feel the presence of his distinctive, deep, warm voice again?

And yes, I may have possibly upset some IRL friends for not letting them know I was in town.

But having always been an extremely accommodating person, making sure that I wouldn’t let anyone down, it was time to heed my own needs in restoring a sense of well-being and happiness.

In a nutshell, what I learned was:

Time on my own is vital. And with a family to constantly look after, it’s even more crucial that I can steal some time away whenever I can. It sounds selfish but I’m no use to anyone if there’s no room for self-preservation.

By exploring new things on my own, I rediscovered certain past loves and passions. I’m reminded of my identity that goes beyond mother, wife, daughter, sister and friend. There are so many more elements to me.

A friend of mine recently had her third baby. Well, if you call 10 months ago recent. 3 girls under the age of 6 and a husband who frequently travels overseas, she’s snowed under with the all consuming life of a mother; preparing meals, taxiing to and from schools and daycare centres, ensuring the household is running smoothly.

Without a moment’s rest, she’s constantly got a baby on her hip and a toddler wrapped around her legs begging for equal attention.

We finally spoke for the first time in months the other day and caught onto the topic of general health checks. Sadly she couldn’t recall the last time she went to the doctor’s for her own wellbeing and not the children’s.

“You know, I haven’t even had time for a haircut,” she sighed.

“No, no, no…that’s not good enough!” was my adamant reply.

But truth be told, I completely understood her current standing. As much as I wanted to give her some advice, I knew it’s not what she was looking for.

Leading a busy and hectic life as a mum, we often forget our own needs. And there’s usually no one to remind or push us to do something good for ourselves.

Whether that’s to go to the hairdresser’s, get a massage or even a trip to the café for a dose of caffeine and a simple hour of peace.

Entering the third year of motherhood, I’ve become a strong advocate in the belief that if I’m not in my best physical and mental health, I’m doing my family a disservice.

I need to look after me, in order to look after them.

Specifically covering female cancers such as breast, ovarian, cervical as well as cancer of the uterus, vagina, vulva or fallopian tubes, AIG have developed Wellwoman Insurance aimed at women to help reduce financial stress and increase a sense of security of the future.

Wellwoman is not an income protection plan, nor is it an alternative to private health insurance. It does however offer a one-off payment (between $25,000 and $45,000 depending on what level you select) to help with various costs (mortgage repayments, childcare, even a holiday) following diagnosis. A premium can start at just $9.95 a month.

Rounding up the fourth week of half marathon training, I can’t ignore the disconnect that occasionally happens between the mind and body.

Hills are an absolute bitch. Your brain urges your legs to go faster; to lift those knees higher and to push your body up the steep grade. Instead, it feels like carrying led and gravity just seems to take over and brings you down.

Knowing that neither the mental or physical state is at your control is the shittiest feeling. Ever.

It’s been almost 5 months since that fateful, teary conversation with the GP.

It’s been about 4 since I started seeing my reliable third party.

Despite jumping on the road to recovery, diligently following everything that my third party suggested: fitting meditation into a daily routine; being more aware of those moments of anxiety and trying to cope with them better; something ominous was still blocking me.

While not as intense as before or lasting as long, days of stress and anxiety still exist, I wearily told my third party.

Recovery isn’t linear, she replied matter of factly.

It’s not a simple case of diagnosis, prescribing an instant cure with appropriate medication and setting a time frame to reach the end goal of perfect mental health.

There will be some stellar highs, spiraling lows. There are detached, even numbing plateaus. Then there are disappointing times when neither mind nor body or at sync with each other.

In this realization, I’ve consciously decided to stop thinking that every day is a little closer to getting out of the fog,

No beating around the bush, the 12 week rigorous schedule of long runs, hill runs and weights delves right into it. (I get 2 rest days. That’s it!)

But just as I started feeling anxious about surviving the next 12 weeks and beyond, I carefully read the opening paragraph:

“This is a 12 week training plan and requires 12 weeks of commitment. There will be sacrifices made and some sore muscles over the course of your training, but it’ll all be worth it with the end result being a new body, new energy, and a massive feeling of self accomplishment once the race is run and you’ve got that medal around your neck.”

And while running isn’t for everyone, I think most people can relate to that elated feeling of self-accomplishment.

Who needs drugs when you can get that natural high?

So, that’s where I’m hoping to find that mental strength: knowing that all this hard work is going to result in something big and most of all, positive for me.

The other day on Twitter, I was discussing the challenges of raising live-wire twin toddlers with bloggy buddy, Kirrily of Sunny Side Up.

And while we spoke of the roller coaster ride that is toddler wrangling, there was the emphasis to treasure the moments of peace.

Kirrily quite aptly called them:

“The gaps in the clouds that help you breathe.”

I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that this year has been exhausting. Problem is, I’ve lived through most of it in denial.

My finest and most fabricated “Suck it up, Princess” coping mechanism finally lost its effect. Why was I surprised? I mean, how long can one suppress their stress and anxiety anyway?

People happily joke that once having children, you simply surrender to the sleep deprivation; that it’s an irrevocable aspect of parenting. But really, it doesn’t have to be that way.

For the past year (and longer), I’ve persevered, adamant that I could cope. But each time I neglected the need for rest, it took a toll on my body; risking my physical and mental health as a result.

It took a teary, desperate conversation with my GP to realize that I had been functioning on survival mode for a while.

Discreetly, a dark cloud had formed and was looming over my head, hazing my thoughts, killing my motivation and tampering with my temperament.

For the majority of people out there, I speak of nothing revolutionary.

But for myself, I couldn’t keep going through the façade that all was faring well. It was time to be honest; to accept that seeking help was a sign of strength, rather than weakness.

It finally dawned on me that finding a third party to talk through the issues, is completely acceptable. As frightening as that initial meeting was, the chance to purge and blurt without fear of judgment or unsolicited advice is beyond liberating.

For the new year, I’m heading in the right direction; to switch back from “Survival” to “Happy Living”.

In the meantime, I’ll keep looking out for the little rays of sunshine peeping through those clouds; savouring every opportunity to breathe again.

Obviously, having a high risk twin pregnancy came with a mounting pile of emotional stress and a great fear of the unknown.

There were several emergency trips to the hospital, including a dramatic post Christmas ambulance ride and spending 3 days in observation. That was fun…not.

Due to twin growth discordance, fortnightly ultrasound appointments were also vital. Then every other week, there was a mandatory check up with the obstetrician. It was one of those sticky situations where you actually became acquainted with an entire floor of hospital staff on a first name basis…for all the not-so-pleasant reasons.

Despite the unstable journey and all the medical attention my unborn babies needed, we were fortunate that our private health insurance cover could eliminate much of the financial strain.

Then, when the twinlets were born via cesearan 5 weeks early, we were given high priority as private patients in a public hospital that had the best facilities for premature babies in our area.

My tiny babies were in NICU for a fragile 16 days. I’m forever in debted to all the midwives, nurses and doctors that took such great care of them.

As of this new financial year, new government rules have come into place to encourage Australians take up private health insurance. Families within a certain combined household income bracket and who also don’t have elligible hospital cover, may be charged with the additional Medicare Levy Surcharge. So, it makes sense in taking up the option to have extra medical care (even if you need it now), without paying too much more for it.

It can be daunting trying to find the right information regarding which provider and policy works best for you and your family.

Choosi is a resourceful website that compares and reviews private health insurance cover options. It can help find the right policy for your budget and lifestyle.

There’s also useful articles regarding what you need to look for when it comes to hospital cover and extras cover.

Ultimately, it’s about making sure you choose the right insurance to get the most value.

We had two little ones in my womb, fighting to survive. Thanks to our insurance cover, medical support and facilities were immediately available to ensure their safe arrival into the world.

And for me, that’s been invaluable.

Disclaimer: This is a sponsored post for Choosi. While compensation was received, I am a big believer in having private health insurance and of course, all opinions expressed are my own.

Amongst the chaos, illness and pressing deadlines that was August, there was also the launch of a 4 month health kick. Not very well scheduled on my behalf but these things are like having a baby; there is never a perfect time.

You have to dodge the curve balls, plant the commitment in your brain and just plunge right into it.

On the 8th of August I signed up to Vision Training. I had previously been part of many a personal training program, but either the desired results never happened or I found myself injured.

Anyway, it’s been a smidgeon over a month and while I was tempted to write about my new health and fitness journey here on the ye ol’ blog, I thought I’d wait it out and see how I was feeling about it all. Find out first if I could just do this.

And so far, dare I say, so fabulous!

I tried on a dress that I haven’t worn in about 4 years on Saturday. Not sure what inspired me.

The scales had barely budged but something compelled me. I figured, dresses never lie.

I slipped into my pretty summer frock and surprisingly I zipped it up with ease.

I had to take a happy snap. Then, of course, posted it on IG for good gloating measure (ahems).

While the training schedule has been so far doable, it’s taken a helluva lotta hard work.

I’m at the gym most mornings at 6:00. Despite the on-going humiliation of coming last, every Saturday morning I religiously join the running group.

The goal is to hit 300 minutes of cardio per week…

Eating habits have also changed dramatically but there’s enough menu planning to ensure that there are no pangs of hunger or serious cravings.

Since becoming a convert to smoked salmon and steamed kale, salt and vinegar chips and I were forced to file for divorce, citing irreconcilable differences.

The ultimate weight loss is to get to pre-twinlet weight (63.9 kgs) by the 8th of December. (I’ve got about 7 kgs to go).

But getting on scales and scrupulously monitoring every single gram is such a bore.

It can also be very disheartening.

While I happily wore my little frock on Saturday, on separate occasions, friends who I hadn’t seen in ages, came up and told me how great I looked. I think someone even used the highly flattering adjective, “radiant”.

Woot!

So, I’ve decided that with this “Eat better, lose weight, get fit” gig, there needs a “feel good” factor.

And there’s nothing else that makes me feel awesome (on the inside and out) than the next new pretty dress.

Visiting my buddy Veronica at her shop (yeah, you know the one), I spied this gorgeous number…

Feeling bold and brash, I tried it on. I was pleasantly surprised that I didn’t have to squish my butt cheeks into it but I knew I could look even more ker-pow in a month’s time.

And there ya have it, folks. My goal dress.

In marking 4 weeks since its purchase, this cute number will make its debut appearance on the 6th of October. On this blog.

About Me…

Indonesian-born, Grace spent extensive time living and working overseas, primarily in Japan. She now resides in Sydney where she is mum to identical twin boys and wife to an avid surfer. While she has happily replaced office life with motherhood, Grace has discovered that a 10 year career in corporate sales and being fluent in 3 languages is futile when dealing with toddler tantrums and singing “The Wheels On The Bus”